


Snuggle Away the Nightmares

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: International Fanworks Day, International Fanworks Day 2016, cute Dad Drift, it's just utter cuteness, its the best ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bumblebee shows Slipstream and Jetstorm a new podcast when they're on patrol. It has unforeseen consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snuggle Away the Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This is just sweet. And it's also my first IFD so...I hope I'm doing this right? (It's posted a bit early but still).

Slipstream and Jetstorm discovering _Welcome to Night Vale_ was a mistake. Bumblebee liked to listen to it moreso than music – it reminded him of when that had once been a viable means of communication to the humans, before Ralph had come along. When they’d been stationed in the desert, listening to the podcast was something of an amusement. A way to pass the time.

 

He liked to see how the humans could create a narrative that made fun of their own complicated ideas of what go on in the world. A vague yet menacing government agency, the Secret Police, the acts of censorship; it was all amusing to see how people can make up explanations for the silliest of things.

 

_Welcome to Night Vale_ was an obsession that hadn’t ended with Bumblebee’s return to Cybertron. It had simply been put on pause. When he’d finally stumbled back on Earth’s surface, after all of the commotion of following Optimus’ leads and doing his best to assemble a team that would stick together, Bee found himself with progressively a little bit of relaxation time.

 

And what did he do, but get caught up on the show. It was much different, in the past few years that he had been gone. Cecil, the show’s enigmatic host, was much more forward. His and Carlos’ relationship had blossomed into something else entirely, and more minor characters that he hadn’t thought much of in the first place were more important the further the story line went.

 

Bee loved it.

 

And he tended to listen to it when he was out on patrol. Which, ordinarily wasn’t a problem, since none of the others had fully immersed themselves in the Earthen culture, much less a still kind of obscure podcast about a small town that didn’t actually exist.

 

But, in an effort to more fully integrate the team, Bee had taken to mixing up partners in as safe a way as possible. (Admittedly, the pairing of Sideswipe and Drift made him more anxious than it had any reason to, but so far it seemed to be working alright.)

 

And, while Drift didn’t trust his minicons to just _anyone_ (namely Sideswipe), he was willing to let the more responsible members of the team have some time with them. Bumblebee had been the logical first choice.

 

That was how Slipstream, Jetstorm, and Bumblebee found themselves driving, the two minicons hoping to find something to occupy themselves. Drift never let them fuss with the radio, instead preferring to drive in silence. But Bumblebee was much more flexible with the rules.

 

“Are you sure we can? Master Drift never lets us choose…” Jetstorm apprehensively begins, glancing at Slipstream.

 

Slipstream, for his part, was all too pleased to exercise their newfound freedom. “That’s with Master Drift. The purpose of this exercise is to strengthen our bond with the team – and how are we to do that if we do not see how everyone does things differently?”

 

“I _suppose_ that could work…” the black minicon mumbles, but at a friendly nudge from Slipstream, a small smile works its way onto his face.

 

“Well, if you want to, I could show you what I usually listen to. It’s a little like a TV show, but only through the radio. It’s what the humans call a podcast,” Bee explains, amused at their innocence.

 

“A pod…cast? That’s a funny name.” Slipstream leans back in his seat, letting Bumblebee take over.

 

“Yeah, it sounds like naming something a ‘ship run’,” Jetstorm adds, smiling up at Slipstream.

 

The two minicons giggle to each other, and Bumblebee just snickers. “Sure, sure. There’s a new one out next week, but we can talk about it now instead.” He flicks on the radio, and Cecil’s voice filters through the stereo.

 

_“A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale.”_

* * *

 

 

The boys took to it instantly, loving every moment of being in the world of Night Vale. Some parts were difficult to understand, resulting in Bumblebee explaining them, and sometimes things were simply just _weird._ Of course, the language used was rather beautiful and poetic, even if it was being used to describe a restaurant where invisible pie was a thing that could be served and consumed. It was a strange set of events.

 

It soon became a regular habit. Every time they had patrol with Bumblebee they’d listen to the podcast. They learned to accept Cecil’s weirdness, and eventually began to discuss the events in the little desert hamlet with Bumblebee in the days between their patrols together.

 

Unfortunately for the two boys, when they found themselves alone at night, attempting to fall into recharge, they couldn’t. Memories of the characters from Night Vale, namely the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home, kept them up at night. It made them more tired, more lethargic, and in the odd instance, made Slipstream more irritable than usual.

 

Neither of the two wanted to own up to their issues. They worried about being thought of as weak by the other members of their team, especially Master Drift. If he caught them slacking off with Bumblebee to blame, not to mention how it affected their performance in their daily training routines, Drift wouldn’t be pleased.

 

Jetstorm didn’t want to subject himself to that again, and Slipstream would rather go against his master than have Jetstorm feel like he needed to leave again.

 

So instead, they try and hide it. Going to recharge earlier in the day, when the sun was still out, to try and ward her off. Of course, neither of them spoke to Bumblebee about their fears either, because they didn’t want the stories to stop.

 

They had bonded over the podcast, they didn’t want to see it end so soon.

 

Still…they were afraid.

 

And one night, after about four days of this constant feeling, it came to a head.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t think she would go after us. After all, she’s only in Night Vale, and Night Vale doesn’t exist,” Slipstream reasoned one night, as he lay next to Jetstorm in their room aboard Drift’s ship.

 

“That’s true,” Jestorm agrees, staring up at the ceiling above them. The same ceiling that the Faceless Old Woman had said that she crawled around on at night – and that _many_ things were crawling around them at night, but they couldn’t see them. “But…we are on Earth now….”

 

“But this is a space ship. She lives in homes, not spaceships,” the red minicon repeats, turning to face Jetstorm with a small hopeful smile. “We’re safe here.”

 

“Of course.”

 

The two lapse back into silence, but as the hours progress, they find that they can’t quite power down. Every time they close their optics, they think they can hear the sound of skittering nails on the ceiling, or of a whisper of a hot breath on their audials. The podcast makes a point of saying how the Faceless Old Woman is everywhere, yet nowhere, and how she can still speak and still see and still know everything she does; while she _doesn’t_ have a face.

 

“But do you think --?”

 

As Jetstorm begins his query, the door to their suite snaps open, a large silhouette filling the doorway, interrupting the silence of the night and the darkness of their room. The sudden noise, and sudden brightness, startles the two minicons, and they scream. Until, that is, they realize the exact shape the silhouette takes in the doorway, the way the light from the hall reflects off of orange and black paint, and the stern discipline that the individual seems to have in the way they hold themselves.

 

“Is this what has kept you up? Stories of a town that does not exist, with characters that are not real?” Drift grumbles, walking further into the room once the screams had stopped. He turns the lights on, keeping the setting on low, and kneels at the foot of their berths.

 

“I…” Slipstream begins, but Jetstorm is already crawling out of bed and taking solace in their master’s arms.

 

“We know it’s just stories and we know it but they’re _scary_ stories and there’s so much detail that it feels so _real._ But we don’t want the stories to stop because it’s fun and Bee likes them too!” Jetstorm babbles as he sits in Drift’s lap. When he was their teacher, they wouldn’t dare to cross this line. But behind closed doors, with him as their parental figure? Of course they could.

 

Slipstream hesitated only a second more before he too joined Jetstorm in Drift’s lap. “It’s a good bonding experience with Bee, Master, and we like them…but the images sometimes stay in our minds for too long.”

 

Drift hums as he listens to these stories, his large servos gently supporting his students. “I can see that. Would it, perhaps, aid you to have me here? On watch, maybe, to ease your minds.”

 

The minicons look at each other, before looking back up at Drift, decision made.

 

“We were hoping we could stay with you, Master. In your berth…if that’s not too much to ask,” Jetstorm asks, biting his lower lipplate in a show of uncertainty that he had picked up from spending so much time around and watching humans.

 

Drift merely hums, before standing, his arms still full of minicons. “I think that could work,” he replies, heading to his quarters down the hall.

 

The two minis look at each other, sharing a shy smile. Of course they were welcome here; they should have thought of this sooner.

 

There were no nightmares that night.


End file.
